Who are you beyond running?
Last week I was sat in the car, waiting at a set of traffic lights. It was a beautiful evening, one of those early March evenings when you feel the light kiss of Spring, you know the ones, that make you suddenly realise how cold and miserable you’ve been. How darkness has been silently smothering you with the mundanity of everyday life, but then, fresh, early evening daylight has suddenly brought into focus life, literally springing back into action all around you.
While I waited for a green light, I witnessed a seemingly innocuous moment between two men running across the road in front of me. As they stopped, I watched as they exchanged a fist bump- a simple gesture, but one that showed that their bond almost tangible. In that simple action, their enjoyment of each other’s company was unmistakable, and just watching it I felt the familiar feeling of connection, the kind that comes from sharing something you love with someone else who loves it too. I was immersed in this quiet observation as I watched them run off separately, the ease of their run, their friendship and their stride enviable. The interaction took less than a minute, but the familiarity of the scene felt like a lifetime of running summed up in that fist bump.
As so often with these Substacks, there is usually a link to an off the cuff comment or thought whilst running and this week’s piece is no exception, so just stay with me for a minute.
Last Monday, before the fist bump, I took my morning running group on a more adventurous route even than normal. I like to think of our Monday morning group run as a “there are no rules run”, so we often run off the beaten track. This time, I decided we would forge forwards towards another unexplored path in our local woods. I love how in these runs, time, pace and distance are inconsequential, and this week was no different, as we ran like big kids, jumping over streams, playing secret agents, swinging on tree swings made from rope and sticks, neither built for our weight or our age, the laughter and joy too infectious to stop and ‘be sensible’.
Afterwards, splattered and muddy and slightly giddy, we went for a coffee and watched back a video of our exploits one of the group had taken. I said if this was our last run ever, it was a good one! And I was suddenly struck with a very intrusive thought- what if this was my last run ever, and I mean, ever, ever again?
I immediately started sweating. I mean, could I ever contemplate the thought of never being able to run again? Who even am I beyond running? Even my 2 year old granddaughter thinks my ‘real name’ is “Run”!
I still had this idea floating around my head a few days later, when I wistfully watched the two runners, and I still haven’t been able to get it out of my head.
What if this run, the one you’re planning later today, was your last run? Have you ever thought about never being able to run again, about not having to decide whether you run today or tomorrow, kicking it off into the grass because tomorrow is better because today it’s raining.
Do you know who you or who you would be beyond running? This really scares me, everything that I am is wrapped up in running, it’s my job title, my only income source, my social life, and my health and well-being.
Life changes in an instant as time reveals running besties that you too once fist bumped on the corner, the same ones and new ones that you shared all those early morning starts with, the ones who knew within a nano second of your breathing changing that you were struggling, or the “you had to be there” stories where you nearly peed your pants… Before you even realise it, life can change and running as you know it can disappear.
So if we all knew when our last run would be, would we make it a little sweeter? Would we be a bit more present in our flow, deem the pace of little significance and instead just appreciate the joy of movement and of companionship?
I wonder if it’s an age thing that I’ve started thinking about this? Recently a few of my members have mentioned retirement to me, and I’m a bit confused if this is just birthday related banter or a genuine concern that I’m not getting any younger. How many more winters can I keep showing up in the freezing cold, getting soaking wet, night after night?
Perhaps I am feeling reflective because it’s 20 years ago this May that I ran my first marathon. Or perhaps it’s because the latest thing on my news feed is, “going for a run with your younger self” and if I did, what would I say to 36-year-old first time marathon training Verity?
And I’ve thought about this, because the first thing I’d say is “why the fuck did you sign up to the Isle of Wight marathon without first either visiting the island or looking at the course profile?” No really, I hadn’t got a clue, a dear friend drove me around the route about 4 weeks before the race- who knew the Isle of Wight was hilly?!
I’d then say, don’t over complicate running, keep it simple, and hold on harder to who you are beyond running. But we know that that is hard to do right? Running is so much more than, well, running. Sport is so much more than sport. It’s well documented that the transition period from being “something” to “something else” is tricky, navigating life when, whatever you once were is no longer an option is, I imagine, is hard.
How do you lose running? Running could stop overnight, through an accident, illness or injury, one day you’re in full running flow, the next, life throws you a curveball, we’ve all experienced this, nearly 5 years ago to the day when the world went into lockdown.
Or your runner status change could be a long-drawn-out process comprising of burnout, injury, denial, setbacks, returns, more denial, more setbacks until the reality is your body no longer responds positively to running, running no longer fits or feels comfortable and wow, I can only imagine how tough that can be.
How do you prepare yourself to run the final finish line? I’ll be honest, I’m not ready to face this, but I’ve found someone who is, a runner who wrote her own running obituary to honour her running career. She recommends it to anyone who couldn’t run anymore, to gently ease themselves into their next “athletic” chapter. Her series of The Not-Running-Anymore Support Group faces her challenges head on as she documents her Final Finish Line blogs.
Her advice on how to cope with separating from your running family makes for tough reading, as I fondly remember the many shared roads, trails and finish lines I’ve had with complete strangers; the bonds formed over the course of a race, men and women who I’ve connected easily and deeply with. My most recent encounter was just last Sunday at Weymouth half marathon, when a runner young enough to be my daughter and I shared the first 8 miles together, chatting non-stop all the way, just two total strangers.
If you google “how to cope when running stops”, the general advice is to acknowledge the feelings of anger, uncertainty, sadness and resentment, that you can and will find a new “moving” version of yourself, but, be honest, will you really or might you never get over the loss of something that was so wrapped up in who you are?
I know, for me, I’m taking the advice I’d give to my younger self and trying to implement it now- keep it simple, appreciate the runs and the races that little bit more, and to remember this quote-
“When the well is dry, we know the worth of water”